


The Problem wtih Potions

by InTheShadows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU after HBP, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Fluff, Gen, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Severitus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9543539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: Harry's first thought is 'you have got to be joking'. Actually, that was more like his first, second and third thought. After he remembered to breathe of course. He lets his head drop to the table with a thud. Why is it always him?





	

The first thing Harry thinks when he sees the result is 'Thanks a fucking lot Fate'. The second is 'Fuck my life, how is this even?'. The last is 'Thank Merlin I'm not in class right now'. This comes after he remembers to breathe of course. Because for those first few moments, he had forgotten how. He blinks, but the words don't change. They stain the parchment, mocking him. His head drops, hitting the table beneath him with a thud.

“What's wrong?” Draco asks, coming to his side instantly, “Did it not work?”

Harry never thought it would come to this point. A time where he willingly, happily, spent time with Draco Malfoy. But a lot has changed the past year, starting with the most unexpected alliance and ending with Voldemort's death.

He remembers the turning point so clearly, as it is imprinted into his mind. Who knows, it probably is. It isn't every day, after all, you come across your so called rival crying in the loo.

Harry had heard the sound of someone trying to control their sobs and went to investigate. Hermione was right when she said Harry had a 'saving people thing'. He didn't know who it was or what was wrong, but he was going to find out. If he had stopped to think about it, he would have assumed it was probably one of the younger years, homesick or maybe having a bullying problem. Never had he imagined walking into that loo and finding Draco Malfoy of all people sobbing into the sink.

He makes a slight gasp and Malfoy turns. As soon as he had seen who it was, he had raised his wand. “Like what you see Potter? The great Ice Prince crying? I bet you love this. Can't wait to spread it all over the school? Well that won't be happening.”

Harry's first instinct was to grab his wand, but he shoved that down. Getting into a fight, while tempting, was going to end badly considering how emotional Malfoy was. Who knows what spells they would end up using? Besides, there was something about the sight of Malfoy, eyes red, limbs trembling, and wand pointed at him, that made Harry think of another way to handle this.

He slowly approaches Malfoy, hands at his side. “No, that's not what's I want Malfoy. What wrong?”

“As if you care Potter. Don't come any closer!”

Harry ignores him. “You're in trouble, aren't you? Is it because you took the Mark already?”

“Fuck you Potter, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You don't seem very proud to have it. Was it your choice?”

“Really Potter, do you think I would tell you, even if I _did_ have it? You must be even dumber than I thought. And I told you to stop moving. Cr–”

Harry is in touching distance now. Using a move he normally uses in Quidditch, he dodges the curse, grabs Malfoy's wand and pulls the boy into a tight hug. The hug is more to restrain Malfoy than to comfort him, but when Harry has he's arms wrapped around him, something in Malfoy seems to break. He goes stiff, not struggling, just breathing hard still. Then, suddenly, he goes limp in Harry's arms and begins to cry again, sobs racking his frame. Harry holds on, not sure what else to do. Not sure if there is anything else he _can_ do.

He doesn't think Malfoy is seeing him anymore. His arms come up to grip Harry's shirt, as much as he can with his arms still restricted. He buries his head into the crock of Harry's shoulder, even though Harry is shorter than him and that can't be comfortable. Harry backs them up so they have the sink behind them to support them.

They stay like that for a long time, Malfoy sobbing and Harry feeling bewildered and so useless. This is beyond anything he was expecting and he doesn't know what to do next. Eventually Malfoy's sobs slow and then stop altogether, but he still doesn't let go. Harry lowers them clumsily to the floor and Malfoy essentially curls up in his lap. Two mugs of hot coco appear and Harry gives a silent thanks to the house elf before pressing a mug into the other boy's hand.

They sip it and Harry waits for Malfoy to speak, figuring that was the best approach for now. He'd probably mess things up right now if he tried to say anything. Harry has a way with words, he knows. It's just sometimes, that was is the worst possible way, not the best.

“He wants me to kill Dumbledore,” Malfoy admits, voice barely above a whisper, “and find a way to get the Death Eaters into the school.”

Harry's breath catches in his throat, but he doesn't say anything right away. Nor does he let go. If anything, he tightens his hold around Malfoy's waist. He is horrified. Not by Malfoy, but by what he has been assigned. There is no way they expect him to accomplish both.

“It's a trap,” he whispers back.

Malfoy nods. “When I fail... Mother... Father... will pay the price. He's going to kill us,” Malfoy sounds petrified and who can blame him?

“Couldn't you go to-”

“No,” Malfoy interrupts before Harry even finishes, “No. I refuse to go to Dumbledore. I've seen how he uses Uncle Sev and I won't do it. He has no reason to protect me and every reason to use me. I may be a tool, but I will not be another pawn for the Headmaster to play with.”

Harry wants to deny that. Wants to defend Dumbledore. But he can't. He knows very well that, while yes Dumbledore cares, of course he does, he is also a General in the War. And Generals have to make sacrifices, whether they care or not. So he doesn't dispute Malfoy's fears.

Instead, he thinks of something equally as crazy. “What if... what if you were _my_ spy instead?”

Malfoy jerks in his arms. “Don't be ridiculous Potter,” he sneers, but he doesn't move away. Harry takes that as a good sign.

“I'm not. Listen, you have the Mark anyways. Nothing is going to change that. But you clearly don't want it and who else can you turn to? If we win this War, I'm going to be the figure head, not Dumbledore. He has his spy, why can't I have mine? I'm the one who is suppose to kill the bastard in the first place. This way, I have a way of gathering information. You have an angle to keep you and your family safe. No one is going to suspect the two of us of working together. It's brilliant.”

“Brilliantly insane you mean.”

“Well yeah, but who has ever accused me of sanity?”

Malfoy lets out a weak chuckle at that. He then lifts his head to stare at Harry, eyes so intent it is as if he is reading his mind. The only reason Harry knows he isn't is because he knows what that feels like. Intimately. Whatever he sees much pass his test because he nods. “Alright Potter, I'll be your spy. What that says about _my_ sanity, I don't want to know.”

Harry grins. “Welcome to the Light Malfoy,” he holds out his hand for Malfoy to shake.

He does, grasping it tightly. “Never use that phrase again Potter. Ever.”

That had been the start of it. Harry still can't believe how it ended. The two of them became a team, working perfectly in tune with each other. Which might sound odd to anyone else. But for two boys who studied the other so intently for years, it made perfect sense. They knew each other. They always did. Now they are just using that information in another way.

Harry studied that year like never before. Hermione was thrilled. Ron complained about it until he told them both that he was working on a way to defeat old Snake Face once and for all. Than they both threw themselves into helping him. The DA began again. Yes, Snape was teaching them now and yes, he was actually doing a good job of it. The man clearly knew what he was talking about. But they needed more.

So the DA practiced and studied and researched. Harry would sneak away to talk to Malfoy about what he had learned, ideas he had, spells the DA had found. Malfoy, on the other hand, would tell Harry about the research _he_ found, the information he received from his Father and, shockingly, Bellatrix. Apparently old Aunt Bella was thrilled that her nephew was working so hard to 'redeem' the family name and was more than willing to help him. Not with his tasks, oh no, that was still his honor, but with other things. Information that not even Snape was told. That last part made Harry just a little too gleeful, but oh well. The man was still a git, whether he risked his life daily or not. Harry did respect that, but that didn't mean he had to like the man himself.

Everything came to a head the end of the year, as it always does. For being insane, Voldemort was sure predictable like that. The Final Battle was at Hogwarts, just like Harry and Draco – he had been Draco for months now – feared. The blonde boy had found a way to fix the Vanishing cabinet with a bit of unsuspecting help from Hermione. Harry had found a spell to banish Voldy once and for all with the help of Draco and, surprisingly to some, Luna. It was an ancient spell that bound him – _all_ of him – to an object of their choice and then destroyed that object. It was a Dark spell, but no Darker than the Horcuxes Dumbledore finally told Harry about.

Draco had a toxic potion containing Basilisk venom and Harry gleefully poured it on their chosen object – an old cup from the kitchens, they still laugh about that. When Harry does, Voldemort looks at Harry as if _he_ is the insane one. He died with that look on his face.

That had been, by far, the craziest ending to Harry's school year yet. The castle was in shambles. Rubble and fire spread across the place. The injured and the dead lay all around them. People were laughing, crying, cheering and fleeing. Harry and Draco stood in the middle of all that, snogging the life out of each other.

They got some _great_ reactions from that one. Ron muttered about Obliviating himself. Neville looked oddly fascinated. Luna smiled knowingly. Lucius and Narcissa look faint. Snape looked disgusted. Dumbledore seemed _way_ too happy, his eyes sparkling like mad. Several other students thought they were either under a spell, cracked from stress or completely nuts. Considering that in that moment Harry felt like he could fly without a broom, they may not have been too far off on the latter.

It took a while for things to calm down after that. Months in fact. But eventually everything did. And Draco was still his boyfriend and neither of them regretted it. Not even when the Daily Prophet threw an absolute fit about it that once again, set everyone off. It was worth it.

Now in their Seventh Year, the most normal year Harry has had so far, Fate has to prove him wrong. Draco had been helping him with Potions. He doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, but he doesn't know what else to do. Lately he had been considering Healing, for which he would need a _very_ good Potions score for. Harry finds it easier to work with Draco outside of class where there is no one trying to sabotage his work – like always – or have someone breathing down his neck – also like always. Snape may have mellowed out after the War, however _very_ slightly that was, but he and Harry still do not get along very well.

So, since Snape trusts Draco to brew by himself, if not Harry, they have developed a habit of brewing their Potions before they have to in class. This way Harry already knows what he is doing before hand and isn't so nervous or jumpy during class. And boy, is Harry ever thankful of that habit now. If he can't believe it, certainly no one else is going to. Nor is this something that he wants to get out, if it is true. Some small part of him hopes it's a mistake somehow. This can't be right.

He feels Draco look over his shoulder to look at the result himself when Harry didn't answer him. He has about the same reaction Harry has. “Oh Merlin, you have _got_ to be shitting me,” he declares. Harry sincerely wishes he was. He reads the parchment yet again, still hoping for a change.

Parents:

Lily Potter nee Evans – Mother

Severus Snape (biological) – Father

James Potter (blood adopted) – Father

Grandparents:

Maternal:

Rose Evans

Charles Evans

Paternal (biological):

Eileen Snape

Tobias Snape

Paternal (blood adopted):

Euphemia Potter

Fleamont Potter

It still doesn't. No matter how many times he reads it, it stays the same. “I had to make a mistake, right?”

“You better hope to Merlin you did.”

“Maybe you should do it this time. To be safe.”

Draco nods in agreement and starts the process all over again. Harry pulls out his Charms book and begins his essay, trying desperately to focus on what he is writing, not on his boyfriend. It has to be some kind of mistake anyways. Harry, while greatly improving his Potions skill, still has trouble from time to time. Draco, on the other hand, is an excellent brewer. He'll get it right. By time the potion is done a few hours later, Harry almost has himself convinced.

Almost.

“Alright Harry, put three drops of blood in it,” Draco instructs.

Harry nods and repeats the procedure. He watches as the soft purple color turns a shade of violent red. Just like it was suppose to. Of course, so did Harry's. But that didn't mean anything.

Draco pours a small amount on a fresh piece of parchment. As the words appear, both boys hold their breath. When it is done, they read it and look at each other in the 'fuck my life' way that teenagers are so good at.

The results are the same.

Harry let's his head drop to the table below him. “How?” he moans, “How? And _why_ is it always my life?! Why can I never get a break? Why can I _never be normal_?!” he is shouting by the end of it, done. Just completely and utterly done with it all. Why does everything always happen to him?

A voice in his head tries to tell him not to be so dramatic, that _everything_ doesn't happen to him. He ignores it. Because right now, it feels like it does. All he wanted was a normal year. One with no one trying to kill him and school work and friends and Quidditch and normal drama. Not finding out that the man that, at one point, he hated more than Voldemort was his biological Father.

How is this even possible? Harry didn't even know Snape _knew_ his mother, let alone knew her well enough for _that._ He grimaces at the thought. Yuck. Of course his mind flashes to the scene he accidentally saw in the man's pensieve in fifth year. How his Mother tried to defend him from his Father and his friends. How humiliated he was. Harry will never admit this, but a part of him understands perfectly why Snape lashed out at Mum like he did.

He always thought that the scene was just a humiliating example of how much of a bully his Father and Sirius were. But if Snape was actually close to Mum... Well, that scene took on a whole new level then. He called her a mudblood. That isn't a word you use lightly, especially if you are friends with that person. But what happened after that? Did Mum ever talk to him again? She had to of, for him to be in this situation in the first place.

So many questions and no answers. “How in the world does a Gryffindor and a Slytherin get close enough to each other for _that_?!” he says out loud and finishes with 'especially if they may or may not have been friends' in his mind.

Draco clears his throat pointedly.

“Oh you know very well what I mean Malfoy,” Harry answers in irritation, “I meant under normal circumstances, not when we were in the middle of a war.” He doesn't mention the memory, even though he knows Draco will have a theory about it. He has never talked to anyone about it after he confronted Sirius. 'We were kids.' That answer still makes Harry flinch when he thinks about it. So was his cousin. And the kids at his old school. And his classmates. That excuse was never something he could accept.

“Maybe they were drunk?”

“Still means they would have had to been around each other. And Snape _hates_ Gryffindors. Even more than old Snake Face hated Muggleborns and Muggles.”

Draco snorts. “Don't be so dramatic. Severus isn't that bad.”

“You only say that because you are on the other side of the room,” he retorts. He thinks of the glares and the sneers and the insults. The man had made it personal from day one. Was it because he was the son of an old school bully? Or... because he should have been his? The irony of the thought makes him sick. All this time. All this time and he could have had... but no, that was impossible. He lifts his head and looks at his boyfriend in despair. “Do you have any idea how fucked up this is?” he asks, voice soft and hurt. “What this means?”

Draco comes over and hugs him. Harry begins to shake. “All this time. All this time, wishing for a family of my own and I have a Father who is alive. An actual Father. I wouldn't have had to live with my _relatives_ ,” he spits the word, “for protection. But it doesn't matter. It wouldn't of made a difference because no matter where I lived, no matter where I was, someone would have still hated me. I still wouldn't have been loved. The best I could have hoped for was that Snape would have fed me and gave me an actual room. I'm still sure I would have had to work like an house elf to earn my keep.” His trembling is so bad, Draco's hold on him is the only thing keeping him in his seat and not sinking to the ground. He buries his head into the blonde's chest.

Said blonde runs a soothing hand through his hair. “You don't know that. Uncle Severus is extremely against child abuse.”

“I wasn't abused,” Harry protests weakly, “Besides, it doesn't matter. I'm always the exception to the rule.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yes I do. He tried to teach me Occlumency, remember?”

“Maybe he didn't see anything?” Draco asks tentatively.

“He saw enough,” Harry snorts, “And aren't you always telling me how smart Slytherins are? How good they are at putting clues together? He should have been able to figure it out.”

“What did he see?”

“My cupboard. Harry Hunting. Aunt Marge's dog chasing me up a tree while they looked on and laughed. A couple of slaps. Did you know I thought my name was either 'Freak' or 'Boy' until I started school?” His tone is flat and matter of fact without any feeling behind it. “Besides, there were other signs. I'm still the smallest one in our class, including the girls. I always come back each school year too thin. My glasses were never the right prescription until you helped me get new ones. My reflexes are too good. Even now, there are times I forget to answer to 'Harry'. Not that any of this matters.”

“Harry-”

“No. Dumbledore always told me I had to go back for my own protection. He probably thought it better for me to be a little roughed up than dead. I survived didn't I? I survived _them,_ I survived the war and now I never have to go back.”

“Are you trying to tell me _Dumbledore_ knew and still let his precious Golden Boy go back year after year?”

Harry shrugs. “He's done worse. He admitted he knew I wasn't cared for there. Besides, my first Hogwarts letter was addressed to 'the cupboard under the stairs'. Someone had to know. But it _doesn't matter_. It never had and it never will.”

“Harry-”

“No. I don't even know why I started this stupid conversation to begin with. It doesn't matter that Snape is technically my Father. James blood adopted me, that isn't something you can reverse. So I'm still Potter's spawn, even if it took a little longer than usual. He either didn't want me or I was a mistake and he doesn't know. Either way it is best to let it alone. I'm seventeen now. I'm of age and having parents no longer matters. And anyways I've lived this long without parents. Why change now?”

“And when we have to brew it in class?”

“I'll mess it up,” Harry gives Draco a self-deprecating grin, “After all, it's not like Snape will be surprised.”

Draco snorts. “Just don't pull a Longbottom,” he warns and then pulls him in for a long, soft kiss. “This isn't going to go away,” he adds quietly.

“I know. I don't know why I'm surprised. I should be use to Fate fucking up my life by now. But for once, this is something I can deal with on my own. There's no danger involved, no evil plots, no world to save. Sure it messes up my life, but it doesn't have to mess anyone else's up.”

“And if he finds out?”

Harry shrugs. “Can you honestly imagine Snape doing anything about it? He can't spread it around because than people would know. And it's not as if he is going to embrace me as his long lost son. The worst he'll do is sneer about what a disappointment I turned out to be, but he's been doing that for years.”

“If you're sure.”

“I am. Now,” he tilts his face upward to look at Draco again, “I think we both have had enough school work for tonight. Why don't we clean up and do something much more _enjoyable_ ,” his voice drops.

Draco snorts. “Never try to seduce me like that again Harry, it doesn't work. But fine, we can go play,” he agrees easily enough.

Harry wiggles his eyebrows.

“You're insufferable Potter,” Draco informs him sternly, but Harry can see the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. He counts it as a success.

In short order they have cleaned their space and closed the door behind them, but not before Harry burned to results of his potion. No reason to test Fate. She controls his life enough as it is. No reason to give her more material to work with.

Because Harry is determined to keep this quiet. What he told Draco was true. It doesn't matter. Sure it is going to mess with Harry's head for a while. But in the grand scheme of things? It means nothing. So what if his deepest wish is for a family? He's not going to get that with Snape any more than he did with his Aunt and Uncle. The only family he will ever have is the one he builds for himself. He accepted that a long time ago. No matter if it makes him ache sometimes, late at night when everyone else is asleep. It is an orphans lot to be alone.

 

–xxXXXxx–

 

Harry diligently stirs his potion, counting them under his breath. Draco likes to tease him that he always talks to himself when he makes potions, but it helps Harry concentrate better. The directions sometimes get lost in his head, but saying them out loud makes them easy to focus on.

“Four... five... six... seven. Stop. Add three flobberworms, sliced... One... two...”

It has taken years, but he can finally understand why some people can find this relaxing. When you aren't worrying for dear life or someone contaminating it, potions have an almost hypnotic rhythm to them. It truly is an art form, if an under appreciated one.

But then something goes wrong. He isn't sure what, he had been paying close attention to it. He had read the directions twice before starting and followed them to the letter. His thoughts hadn't drifted off, or at least he didn't think they had. But they must of because the next thing Harry knows, he is flinging himself away from an exploding cauldron.

He hits the desk behind him with a thud, the breath leaving him. Ow. He can hear Draco in his head, telling him not to pull a Longbottom. Shite. Snape descends down on him like the wrath of Merlin. Harry has never seen him so angry before. If the desk wasn't in Harry's way, he would have backed up in terror. As it is, he curls in on himself in an attempt to make himself smaller.

“What did you just do, you absolute idiot?” the Potion Master shouts, “Are you trying to kill your classmates? Or does the Great Harry Potter assume he is too superior to follow some simple potion directions?”

“No Sir, I-”

“Save it Potter. One hundred points from Gryffindor for monumental stupidity and endangerment of students, a months worth of detention with Filch and you will clean this mess up yourself. Understood?”

“But Sir-”

“Do you understand?” Snape's voice gets even colder, something the teen didn't think possible.

“Yes Sir,” Harry whispers.

The man sneers down at him in disgust. “Thank Merlin I never had to raise you. You are a complete and total disappointment.”

“Sir?” Harry looks up in shock, “You mean you know?”

Snape laughs cruelly. “Of course I knew Potter, I was there when you were conceived after all. What a unfortunate turn of events that was. You turned out to be nothing but a failure and an unwanted burden. Nothing good has ever come of you and nothing ever will.” He squats down in front of him and Harry curls up more. Snape looks him in the eye. “All you will ever be is a worthless freak. Why would I want anything to do with that?”

Harry sits up with a jolt, gasping for air. Damn it! That is the third time this week he has dreamlike this. It's getting ridiculous. He is still determined not to say anything about this to the man himself. Draco is silent on the subject, knowing he can't change Harry's mind.

Although he would have something to say if he knew that it was affecting his sleep. Dreams of being rejected are now mixing with dreams of Voldemort and the Final Battle. He doesn't understand why. It's not as if he ever had a hope of Snape accepting him. Why should it matter if they are related or not?

Except... well, that isn't exactly true. Harry does know why he is having nightmares about this. And this isn't the first time he has hoped that Snape would accept him. He has never told anyone this, not Ron, not Hermione, not Draco, but there was a time Harry tried to impress the man. Had tried to get him to like and accept him. Tried to make him proud.

There was the first year, when he still had hope for the adults in this world. Sure, the first class was an utter disaster, but Harry, for some reason, didn't let that stop him. It wasn't a drive to prove him wrong. No. It was a drive to impress him. The desire died by Christmas, but he will always remember the feeling of it those first months.

There was the time Snape had protected them from Remus transformed with his own body. All three of them, the students he appeared to hate the most. Never had an adult put themselves in front of a danger for him like that. It lasted even shorter than the first time, but again, he could never forget.

And then there was the realization of just what it meant to go back to Voldemort's side again and again. To know what it really meant to be a spy. To see the continuous threat. To feel the continuous torture. That took more courage and will than Harry could ever have. Not that that meant that he liked the man as a person anymore. There was just something about him that always got under his skin. He tried to ignore it, he really did, but that never worked very well.

It seemed they were destined to clash, no matter how much respect Harry had for his Potion Master. Being a hero does not mean you are likable after all.

Harry groans as he runs a hand over his face. Thank Merlin for silencing charms. He had hoped that the end of the war meant he could stop using them, but he should have known better. Nightmares have always been a problem for him, even when he was a kid. The need to hide them just developed from self-preservation to keeping his Voldemort visions, dreams and encounters a secret. This has just another thing added to the list. Just another thing for his mind to use against him.

Great.

Why does Dreamless Sleep have to be addicting? Not to mention the fact that is possible to build a tolerance for it after so long. And yes, Harry knows this from experience. Sleeping is hell anymore. The only time he can get some real sleep is when he is with Draco. And even then, they both end up waking the other one up with their nightmares. But at least they aren't alone.

He closes his eyes, but he knows he isn't going to be able to go back to sleep. Not after this. Which is just bloody fabulous because it is bloody three o clock in the bloody morning, he finds out when he casts a tempus. Bloody terrific. Well at least he can get a head start on his homework. He reaches out of his curtains and grabs his bag. He can hear Ron's snores and snorts at the sound. Good to know some things never change. He closes his curtains back up and pulls out the first book he grabs. And then promptly groans.

Potions. Yeah, great.

 

–xxXXXxx–

 

“Are you alright Harry?” Hermione asks at breakfast, “you look tired.”

Great, now people are beginning to notice. “Yeah, I've just had a bad week sleeping. Nightmares,” he admits. He has had an excuse ready if anyone noticed. And it's not even a lie. It's just leaving some details out. The trick is to keep it simple. He learned that long ago.

“Have you talked to Madam Pomfrey?”

He shrugs. “What's the point? The only thing that is going to help is Dreamless Sleep and I can't have any right now,” he smiles reassuringly, “I'll be fine.”

“If you're sure,” she tells him doubtfully, but drops the subject, “What Charm did you analyze for Professor Flitwick?”

Harry laughs at the completely Hermione change of subject and they talk about homework while Ron rolls his eyes at the two of them, stuffing his mouth. How his friend is still so lanky after all this time, no one can figure out. One hell of a metabolism apparently.

After breakfast he meets up with Draco and they walk to Transfiguration together. He looks at Harry closely, concerned. “Nightmares?” he guesses.

Harry nods.

“I'll sneak you into the Slytherin dorms tonight. You look like shite,” he informs him.

“Thanks ever so much,” Harry says dryly.

“No problem Potter, that's what boyfriends are for.”

He laughs. “Git.”

“Scarhead.”

“Ferret.”

Draco shoves him and Harry just laughs more, draping himself over Draco's back as they walk. His boyfriend acts exasperated, but Harry knows he doesn't mind. The Final Battle had been hard on Harry. It had been hard on all of them. So any chance to act childish was a welcome change from the depression that set in after their victory.

He doesn't let go until they take their seats. Professor McGonagall gives them a pointed look, but Harry just grins at her. She doesn't say anything and he takes it as a win. They sit together, beside Ron and Hermione.

When classes are done for the day, they go outside to sit by the lake. It's just the two of them because Hermione is in the library and Ron is playing chess with Dean. Draco sits down and Harry lays his head in his lap. Draco instantly begins playing with his hair.

Harry relaxes into the feeling. This is exactly what he needs. With the sun shinning down and his boyfriend below him, he feels the tension he has been feeling lately ease. Now if only it would stay like that. But, unfortunately, it always comes back. He hates it. He absolutely does. Hasn't he earned some peace this year? Why can't things ever be normal? Boring? Not matter what, he never seems to be able to be 'just Harry'. He sighs.

“Think any harder and you're head will explode,” Draco says.

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles, “you're life isn't a mess.”

“Still thinking about it then?”

“Yes. Not that I want to. And not that I've changed my mind. But I can't help it. My brain won't shut up.”

“Why Potter, you mean you actually have a brain to think with?” Draco teases.

“Be quiet you arse.”

“Make me.”

Harry pulls him down for a quick but thorough snog.

“You should say something to him.”

Harry snorts. “Didn't we already have this discussion? The one where it was decided that Snape would rather throw himself off the Astronomy Tower before accepting me as his son. Or, more likely, use me as potion ingredients.”

“No, that was you who decided that. I, on the other hand, know my godfather better and think you should talk to him. This obviously isn't going to go away on it's own.”

“It's only been a week.”

“And you have an obsessive personality. When you fixate on something, it is impossible for you to let it go. And you've obviously fixated on this if you can't stop thinking about it.”

“I am not obsessive.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Really? Then I suppose it was merely a coincidence that you have either compulsively watched or stalked me since we were eleven.”

“Like you were any better? How else would you know if I were watching all the time or not?”

“You stare very loudly,” he says haughtily.

“And you plot even louder. I could hear you from the other side of the Great Hall.”

“Are you sure that wasn't the white noise inside your head you heard?”

“Ha, ha, funny.”

“I live to serve.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “That would be a first,” he mutters.

Draco pulls his hair in retaliation.

“Ow, you prat! What was that for?”

“A gentle reminder that I am an extraordinarily accommodating and caring person.”

“And Snake Face was a beauty queen.”

He makes a face. “There's no need to be insulting.”

“Don't worry,” Harry tells him as he reaches up to caress his sharp cheekbone, “I love you, poncy arse and all.”

“I simply know what I want.”

“High maintenance, I believe is the term.”

They then descend into an ever mature tickling fight, rolling all over and getting grass stains on their uniform. Neither of them care. Well, Draco will when he realizes, but that won't be for some time yet. Besides, that's what magic is for.

Harry's sides hurt from laughing so much by time they stop. He has his head on Draco's stomach, content enough not to move. Draco is back to playing with his hair. It's times like this Harry wishes would go on forever. No fighting, no worrying, nothing bad. Just some simple peace and quiet. A time to be himself. A time to figure out who that is.

His entire life has been one war after another. One battle after another. No time for rest, no time for peace. Just one fight after another. He is so tired of fighting. The mere thought if it makes his stomach turn. He knows Ron is disappointed he isn't going to go in the Auror program with him, but he can't. He would either go insane or kill himself within a week.

He wants to be a Healer because it is the farthest career he can think of from being an Auror. To being the Wizarding World's Golden Boy once again. To play the hero again. The fight has taken everything from him. From his childhood to his freedom to his parents.

Parent. Bloody hell.

He isn't going to talk to Snape about being the man's son. Why can't his brain understand that? It's not going to happen. It would be pointless and stupid. It would only end in tears – mainly his when he is rejected. There's. No. Point.

But then his brain oh so helpfully supplies him with the image from his first year. The Mirror of Erised. His hearts deepest desire – a family of his own. All he ever wanted. And, for one blinding moment, he feels a wave of longing so strong he can't breathe. It hurts so much, it aches right down to his bones. His very soul calls out for it.

He wants to snort at the sheer dramatics of it. But he can't. He can't just brush it off. Because it's true. It was the first wish he ever had, sitting alone, cold and hungry, in the cupboard at the Drusleys. He wanted a place to belong. A place where he was loved, with people who wanted him. He wanted a family of his own.

A fool's dream, but he can't kill the hope. No matter how much he tried, hope remained. And isn't that just typical? The one time he doesn't want it, it refuses to die.

Typical.

 

–xxXXXxx–

 

The day to brew the bloody potion has finally arrived and Harry can't wait to get it over with. He is sick of the thoughts and the doubt running through his head. Every time he manages to push them back for little while, they come right back. It's a never ending cycle. Bloody annoying.

Even of Draco remains unconvinced that this is the right way of handling it. What does he know? So what if it's his Godfather they are talking about. He doesn't have all of the pieces. There is no way Snape would ever accept him. He still has James Potter's blood in his veins. He is still the son of Lily an James Potter, no matter who else was involved in the process originally.

But now they are brewing the potion and then he can forget about this whole thing. He _really_ can't wait. Once it is done, he won't have to be reminded of it anymore.

So he is beside Draco, brewing the bloody thing. His plan is to mess up, but in a subtle way. He knows exactly how to. As long as he adds three crushed dragon fangs into it instead of two, it will render the potion useless, but not a complete disaster. The last thing he wants is to draw attention to himself with an explosion.

It is simple. Or it was suppose to be. But really, when does anything in his life go that way? There always seems to be something. And there is this time as well.

He adds the dragon fangs, just as planned. But instead of turning a bright purple like it should, it starts to bubble. “Watch out!” he cries and ducks, just before there is a spectacular explosion. Harry and Draco scramble away from their station, sharing a look.

“What did I tell you about pulling a Longbottom?” Draco sneers.

“I didn't! Everything was going fine until I added the fangs,” he answers hotly.

“That, Mr Potter, remains to be seen,” Snape snaps as he comes up from behind them. “Clearly you have done something wrong. Or do you believe this is the desired affect?”

“I did not,” he argues back. But of course Snape thinks he did. Naturally. It would go against the natural order of the world if Snape didn't automatically blame him for this mess.

Snape raises an eyebrow, “As I said, that remains to be seen. Everyone, out,” he calls, “Class is dismissed due to incompetence. Potter, stay here.”

Great. He looks helplessly at Draco and then Ron and Hermione across the room. This is so not going to go well. Voldemort may have failed in killing him, but Snape might succeed where he couldn't. They exit the room reluctantly with everyone else. Draco gives him a comforting hug before he does. And then he is alone with Snape.

“Well Potter,” he sneers, “can you tell me what went wrong?”

“If I knew what went wrong, we wouldn't be here. I would have gotten it right,” he answers, arms crossed.

“Obviously you managed to mess up somehow. This is not a good start for someone who wants to continue on in Potions.”

“And how do you know that?” he demands.

“Draco has mentioned that you wish to become a Healer. Quite the goal for someone who can't brew the simplest of Potions.”

“I told you, I don't know what went wrong.”

Snape steps over to the destroyed cauldron and looks down. “This particular explosion is caused by an overabundance of dragon fangs and mint leaves.”

What? He winces. Oh bloody hell, this is just what he was trying to avoid. Sure, he added one more fang than was needed, but leaves? He knows he got that number right.

“And so we find the problem,” Snape draws.

Harry shakes his head. “I know I had the right number of leaves. I know how to count.”

“Ah yes, the leaves. And the dragon fangs.”

He hestitates. Better make this good. “I... am less sure about those. But even if I did add one too many or something, it shouldn't have exploded. I know I counted the mint leaves right because I know what would have happened if I miscounted. The mint leaves react badly if there are too many dragon fangs _and_ if there is too much moon dew,” he stares at Snape defiantly. There, let him think on _that_. Harry does know what he is talking about.

Snape looks at him. “Wonders never cease,” he draws, “The Boy Wonder does know what he is doing. Too bad he doesn't know how to count.”

“I do too.”

“Your potion argues otherwise.”

“And it's not as if no one has ever sabotaged my potion before either,” he says bitterly.

“Sabotage? In my classroom?”

“What, are you going to tell me you never knew? Your precious Slytherins did it all the time. But oh no, it was always _my_ fault. They could do no wrong. Other people may have been protected, but not the Brat Who Lived. Clearly he deserved it,” Harry scowls at the man angrily. If this is all going wrong any ways, might as well make it worth it.

“Once again, you assume you are special Potter. You aren't. You gander no special treatment in this class, one way or another.”

Now it's Harry who rolls his eyes. “Right, because I feel so special about you ignoring the sabotage if it was my potion. Truly, you know how to make a person feel remarkable.”

“You foolish boy, I do not allow _any_ such behavior, no matter who is the victim.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Snape scowls at him. Wow, what a surprise. Snape actively showing his dislike of him. What a shocking development. He never would have guessed. Well he can do it too. Harry scowls back.

“I had heard from my Godson that he is tutoring you,” Snape comments.

Harry nods warily.

“He has told me about the great progress you have been making. Apparently he thinks you have an undeveloped skill for the art. I have been... persuaded,” he purrs the word, practically, “to write a letter of recommendation for you, should you decide to continue on.”

Harry's breath stops. What?

“However seeing as I refuse to write this letter if it is not true, then something must be done about the situation. I will hardly support someone who cannot count.”

He wants to protest again. But he is stuck on the fact that Draco asked his Godfather to give him a recommendation. What in the world was he thinking? Is this the reason he was so sure Snape didn't hate Harry? Because of this?

“I see this has come to a shock to you. Yes, my Godson practically begged me,” he sneers, “He seems to have a misplaced faith in you. And because this is the first time an incident such as this has occurred, I will allow you _one_ chance to make it up. Be here seven o clock tonight. Dismissed.”

Harry stares blankly at his Professor for a long moment before coming to his sense and bolting out the door. What in the world just happened? It feels as if the universe has been turned on its head. He walks to his next class, feeling more confusion than anything. As he takes a seat next to Hermione in Charms, he decides he and his boyfriend are going to have a talk.

Because what in the world?

“Draco,” he calls after class. He is waiting on the other boy.

Draco gives him a once over. “It appears all of your limbs are intact,” he comments as they walk through the halls.

“Barely.”

“What happen?”

“He yelled and scowled and sneered and didn't listen to a word I said. The usual,” he starts as he gives the other boy a sideways look, “I am getting another chance to brew the potion.”

Draco smiles. “That's great.”

“Yes, apparently someone persuaded him I am worth it. A letter of recommendation was also mentioned.”

Draco blushes. He honest to Merlin _blushes_. “You are,” he says, not looking at Harry.

Harry sighs. “Thank you.”

Draco preens.

“But now this puts even more pressure on me because I have to earn it, according to Snape. And how am I going to do that.”

“You've been doing fine so far.”

“Right,” he snorts, “a wonderful job, I'm sure.”

“You have!” he protests, “I know you think you are terrible at Potions, but you aren't. You have a talent.”

“A talent for messing up.”

“If you're so bad at Potions, how did you get an EE on your O.W.L.S.?”

“Luck,” he shrugs.

“You don't have that kind of luck. If you did, you would have gotten a T instead.”

“Maybe Fate felt bad and thought I needed compensation or something for what happened next that week,” he says bitterly.

Draco wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“What am I going to do?”

“You are going to brew that potion and show Severus what you can do.”

“I can't,” he protests, “don't you get it? If I make the potion right, Snape will know. If I mess it up again, he's never going to do me another favor again. This whole thing is a disaster. Why couldn't things have gone as planned?”

“Because _this_ is exactly your kind of luck.”

“Gee, thanks a bunch Malfoy.”

“No problem Scarhead. Now let's get to lunch before everything is gone.”

The rest of the day is agony for Harry. He can't decide what to do. He doesn't want to prove Snape right. He wants to impress him, Merlin help him. He wants to prove Draco's faith in him is worth it. But can he do that without Snape finding out? Maybe he won't have him test the potion after it's done.

And then he snorts to himself. Yeah right. He should be so lucky. There's no way he is getting out of this. Not now. Maybe if things had gone as planned than he would be fine. But not anymore. Now he is screwed either way.

Great.

He enters the Potion classroom right on time, still undecided. Snape is sitting at his desk, essays spread out in front of him. “You know where everything is,” he snaps, “Begin.”

Harry goes to gather his ingredients and sets up the cauldron. He can do this. He can do this. Right. Now if only he knew exactly _what_ he is going to do. But he'll figure it out. Somehow. Doesn't he always. He fills the cauldron wit water and gets to work.

He loses himself in the process. Chop this, grind that, stir it some many times. When he isn't worried about other people, it can actually be rather relaxing. And since Snape is sitting at his desk and no one else is in the room, this is exactly what happens. He relaxes. He loses himself in the potion.

Before he knows it, he is done. A perfectly brewed potion sits in front of him. Shite! He wasn't suppose to do it perfectly. Or maybe he was, but he hadn't decided yet. Habit took over before he did. Now what?

“Excellent Potter, what a pleasant surprise,” Snape comments as he comes to inspect his work. “It appears you do have a talent after all, undeveloped it may be.”

What? Snape is actually praising him? Is he sure this is Snape? This isn't going to turn into another Moody incident is it?

“And just what exactly has you looking so?”

“Just wondering if it's really you.”

“And why would you think such a thing?”

“You gave me a compliment.”

Snape smirks. “Let this be a lesson in Slytherins Potter. We are never predictable.”

Harry would argue that they actually are, but thinks better of it. Probably not his best idea, to antagonize his Professor right now.

“For the final test,” Snape lays down a piece of parchment.

Harry panics. No, no, no, no. He can't do this. He just can't. Not with the man standing right in front of him. “Can't we skip this part?” he asks.

“If we were, how would you know if the potion is correct or not?”

“By the color? It's a light purple, just as it should be. No need to test it.”

“I believe there is Potter.”

“No, there really isn't.”

“It is a pity then, that I am the Professor and you are not. Now, three drops of blood.”

He shakes his head frantically. “No, please Sir, no,” he begs.

“Is there a reason you are so against this?” he inquires impatiently.

“I've done this potion before, I know the results.”

“Then you should have no difficulties doing it again.”

Well, maybe if he gives him a half truth, he'll let it go. “It's not... I'm not originally a Potter,” he whispers, looking at the ground.

“I beg your pardon?” Snape asks incredulously.

“James isn't my biological Father. He blood adopted me. Or maybe Mum did it without him knowing. But, well, James isn't my original Father,” he stutters out.

He sneaks a quick look up at Snape and sees that one of his eyebrows have practically disappeared, it is raised so high. “Is that so?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Well I assure you Potter, the results will not leave this room. I am not one for idle gossip.”

“No, please Sir, can't you have someone else test it? Please?”

“You really are desperate for anyone not to find out. Or is it simply me that you do not want to know?”

“I am a Potter Sir,” he says firmly, “whether by birth or adoption. I doubt it matters to anyone who originally sired me. I am still a Potter.”

“Oh, I believe that to someone, it matters a great deal,” Snape corrects, “Now. Three drops of blood.”

Harry gives Snape one last pleading look before adding his blood. He doesn't wait for a reaction. As soon as Snape adds the potion to the parchment, Harry bolts out the door.

“Potter!” Snape bellows, but he keeps running. He can't do this. He can't.

Instead of going back to the dorms where anyone can find him, he sprints to the Room of Requirement. He quickly paces back and forth and when the door opens, runs in. He gets a vague feeling of comfort from the room before he sees the bad and collapses face first onto it.

It is there his emotions get the better of him and he begins to sob. He hates this. He hates everything about this. From the potion to the situation to his Mum. This is all her fault to begin with. Why did she have to have sex with Snape of all people? She was married for Merlin's sake. How could she do that to James? Didn't she love him? Or was that a lie too?

That thought just makes him feel more miserable. He shouldn't be thinking such thinks about his Mum. But he is and he can't help it. This whole mess began with her. It's her fault.

Sobs shake his body and he has never felt so weak. He shouldn't be crying over the inevitable. What happen to 'it doesn't matter'? Why can't he convince himself that it doesn't? He is of age now, he doesn't need parents. He doesn't need Snape.

The man isn't going to want him anyways. It's just as he said, he's still a Potter. No matter what else happened, he is still a Potter.

It feels as if the same arguments keep running through his head and he hates that as well. They never change, never get better. If anything they get worse. So why can't his stupid heart understand that this is never going to happen? It is never going to end well.

He cries himself to sleep, feeling pathetic as he does.

 

–xxXXXxx–

 

Harry has never been more thankful for the weekend in his entire life. That means he doesn't have class, doesn't have to be anywhere and can just stay in bed, hiding. A small part of his mind tells him he is wallowing in self-pity, but he ignores it. He is due some teenage angst without feeling guilty about it.

Besides, he only has a couple of days before he has to face the rest of the world again. Maybe if he gets it all out now, he'll feel better come Monday.

Right.

But he is going to try anyways. Because he doesn't have the energy or the motivation to leave the bed, let alone the room. He'll be fine in here. The only thing he doesn't have is food and, well, he is use to going without for a couple of days. It's not really going to bother him. He knows he's probably worrying his friends, but that isn't enough to get him to move.

So he curls up under the covers, staring at nothing for an indeterminable amount of time before he hears, “There you are.” Draco.

He doesn't move. He hears him sigh and feels the bed dip where he sits. “Weasley and Granger were worried when you didn't come back last night,” he says.

Harry shrugs.

“I take it is safe to assume he knows.”

He nods.

“And what did he say?”

He shrugs.

“What do you mean you don't know?” he demands.

“I couldn't stand waiting for his reaction, so I ran.”

“Oh Harry,” he sighs softly, “And that would be why Severus was demanding your presence earlier today.”

He flinches. “So he is mad.”

“Yes, but more because you ran than anything else. He, well, he's unsure about the situation.”

“You told him?”

“He asked and I thought it best to offer some form of explanation before he saw you again.”

He burrows farther into the blankets.

“Oh no you don't. You have to talk to him,” Draco says sternly.

“What is there to talk about? It's not as if it matters. Nothing is going to change. Or if it does, it's just going to get worse.”

“Well aren't you a ray of sunshine today.”

“Fuck off Draco.”

He doesn't. Instead he pulls the covers away from his face so they can see each other. Harry knows his face is still red and blotchy from all the crying he has been doing. He has to look like a mess. Draco's face softens. “You really are scared of his rejection, aren't you?”

“He isn't going to want me. Why would anyone want me?”

“I do.”

“That's different.”

“Not really. Not where it matters.”

Harry turns his head away. Draco gently turns it back. “You are worth it,” he says firmly, “You _are_ worth it. Let no man, woman, child or ghost tell you otherwise. You are a good person and deserve to have good things happen to you. _You are worth it as a person_ ,” he emphasizes, “And if I have to spend the rest of my life convincing you, so be it.”

Harry sits up and buries his head into Draco's shoulder. “I don't want to,” he whispers.

“I know, but you have to.”

“Come with me?”

“As long as you want me.”

He nods and untangles himself from the blankets and his boyfriend. This is it. He feels more like he is walking towards his doom than his Professor. His... Father. He was never this scared, even when he was facing Voldemort. The walk to the dungeon never felt so long.

Draco stands in front of a portrait with a man and a snake and says, “Can you tell Severus we are here to see him?”

“Come right in. He is expecting you,” he says.

They walk in and Harry gets his first look at Snape's living quarters. It isn't damp and dark like he always imagined. It is bright and warm, filled with earth colors – browns, reds, greens. The furniture is leather. No Slytherin theme in sight. The most prominent feature are the books. They cover one wall alone, not counting the ones scattered in various places.

“And so the prodigal son returns.”

Harry jumps at the voice and turns to stare at the man, eyes wide. He knows he probably looks like a frightened rabbit, but he can't help it. He is legitly terrified. Beside him, Draco squeezes his hand. He give a quick nod before looking down.

“What's the matter Potter, cat have your tongue?”

Yeah, this was a great idea.

“Severus,” Draco chides.

Snape sighs. “Come, tea.”

Draco and Harry sit on the sofa while Snape takes a chair. None of them say anything while they take their first sips of tea.

“Potter,” Snape begins and Harry flinches. The man sighs again, “Harry,” he corrects.

Harry jerks his head up in surprise. He has never heard Snape say his first name before. He never thought he would. “Let me begin by assuring you that this is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.”

“Really?” he snarks out of reflect, “One would think you would at least have a clue. Seeing as you were involved in a rather important part of the process and all.”

“Do not use that tone of voice with me,” Snape sneers.

Harry looks down again.

“I do believe the influence of alcohol is involved here,” he admits. “I cannot give you an exact report of the night because I do not remember it well myself. Lily and I were childhood friends and continued to be until we were fifteen, when... circumstances changed. I only saw her once more, in what was likely your conception.”

He grimaces. That is a mental image that he absolutely does not need.

“Yes, well,” Snape carries on, obviously taking note of the face he made, “In any case, Lily had written me and asked to see me. James was not home and wouldn't be for some time. I agreed, curious of why she would want to see me again. I clearly remember her asking if I would consider being her child's Godfather. Apparently she wanted someone more responsible than Black, with more legal rights than Lupin. Why she assumed I would be a good choice, I do not know. She made it quite clear when we stopped talking that she never wanted to see me again.

“I had assumed from the conversation that she was already pregnant. Obviously that was the wrong assumption. The rest of the night I cannot recall, mainly due to the fact that I _do_ recall the bottle of Firewhiskey being brought out. I woke up the next morning hungover, but in my own home. I never had reason to believe anything happened. After that night, I never heard from her again. I had assumed she changed her mind on naming me your secondary Godfather, for I was never informed of the fact.”

Harry lets that soak in. So his Mum and Snape _were_ friends. And those circumstances had to be the fight he saw in fifth year. So why would she do such a thing? Why talk to him again? Snape was right, Mum was furious, from what he saw. Why ask him to be his Godfather at all?

And why did she change her mind? Was it because _she_ knew they had sex? That there was a chance he could be Snape's instead of James? So many questions and no way to get the answers. What is he suppose to do with this?

He feels angry at his Mum and Snape for doing it. She was married. _Married_ for Merlin's sake and to someone Snape hated. Did James ever know? Mum had to have some memory of the night, even if Snape didn't, to know to check for parentage. Who made the first move? Was it Snape or was it Mum? How could she let this happen?

Well at least he knows now that Snape never knew. He didn't abandon him in a fit of disgust. Not that it means that he wants Harry now. But at least he has this. He knows Snape didn't leave him at the Drusleys to rot. That will always mean something to him, even if it isn't enough.

He doesn't know what to say. He knows he should say something, but what? What does one say to a Father he never knew he had, that hated him his whole life?

“What happened next is entirely up to you,” Snape tells him.

He looks up.

“I told you that I am not one for idle gossip. I said I will tell no one and I intend to keep my word. This is not an ideal situation. There is much bad history between us. If you never want to speak of this again, I will not bring it up.”

“What... what do _you_ want?” he asks hesitantly.

“I am not a good man. Nor am I a kind one. I do not believe I would be a good Father for many reasons, some of which you may guess. But I will make the effort if you would want to do so.”

Harry's head jerks up in shock. What? Did he just really say... “Why?” is the only thing he is able to ask. He never in his wildest dreams thought Snape would even consider it.

“Because family is important,” is the only explanation he gives.

Harry gets the feeling there is more to it than that, but doesn't push. He can think about it later. Now he has other things to decide. Does he want to give Snape the chance? He still believes it isn't going to go well. As the man said, there is so much history between them. Can they really overcome it?

Does he want to overcome it? Will it be worth it?

He thinks about the Professor. About all he has done for him – the good and the bad. He thinks about his personality, his role in the war. He thinks about his wish for a family. His deepest wish that he can't never seem to bury. The hope he can't kill. The fact he is even considering it when it would mean letting Snape in.

Even after all he has done, he still has to think about it. And isn't that an answer in itself? If he was that against it, wouldn't he reject the idea right away? Isn't the main reason he hesitates fear and not hate? He has come to learn over the years that he doesn't hate Snape, he doesn't hate Draco. He save his hate for worse people. People like Bellatrix and Umbridge and Voldemort. He thought Draco was a spoiled brat before he fell in love with him. He thinks Snape is extremely unpleasant and yes, he dislikes him. Quite a bit in fact.

But he has his respect for being a spy for nearly twenty years. He still wanted to impress the man in various times throughout his life. He thinks it amazing what he can do with Potions. None that has changed.

Maybe... maybe he can try it after all. Just to see. How bad can it be? It's not as if they never fought before. That would be nothing new. If anything else, he has the role of rebellious son down pat.

He slowly nods. Draco smiles at him.

Snape nods.“Good,” he says, “good.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed your ride on the trope train. I'm ending it here because if I continued it and gave it the development it deserved, I would be writing another 10k, at least. Which _no_.


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